Hidden Guardians
by Jahaira
Summary: I didn't have an exciting life, but it was a life. I lived, married the man I loved, and had three beautiful children. I did what I loved, and loved it everyday. Writing was my passion and will be to the day that I died, but I never thought I would be writing such a weird tale as the one I'm writing now. Modern AU.
1. Beginnings

**I really have no idea why I'm doing this, except for the reason that a new plot wouldn't leave me alone after watching an animatic. I got inspired and distracted for the whole week because of it, so…**

 **DAMN YOU, PLOT BUNNIES!**

… **But yeah, I couldn't even focus on 'Little Rose' without this story popping up, so I gave in and wrote a completely new story.**

 **Maybe people will like it, maybe not, but without further ado… Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Seriously, I own nothing.**

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Beginnings

I don't know about anyone else, but I hate mornings. And when I mean hate, I mean I loathe it with the fury of a hundred savage beasts. The mornings themselves return that loathing with the passion of a thousand suns.

…

…

…I seriously need to get out more.

Anyway, with the fancy vocab and all put aside, it's true. If I could, I would absolutely dim down the sunrise to plain darkness. Especially since my bedroom window faces the east.

Ergo, the sun always hits my room in the mornings.

Being woken up and half blinded by that giant burning ball of gas in the sky does not help the nonexistent patience that I have when I usually wake up. But don't worry, I'm not a complete pessimist. The sun is meant to be big, bright, and strong so that the light could support the life on this planet.

My morning blindness was easily solved by a pair of thick, dark blue curtains that I was given from my mother-in-law. It was a housewarming gift when I had first moved into my newly bought house. With a pair of curtains and a pipping hot bowl of her awesome stew, they easily became my favorite gifts.

But all of that happened almost three years ago. Now, it feels like I've been in this house for my entire life. The two-story building was more isolated than any usual suburbs, but I love it for that. The open and clear skies are always beautiful to look at and are better for my sons: Olaf, Marshall, and Elijah.

The three of them are the loves of my life for they had made my entire life worth living. It may sound like I'm exaggerating, but really, I'm not.

Their father and my husband, Kristoff Bjorgman, was my best friend since the two of us were in diapers. Our love story isn't really unique: we grew up together, fell in love over time, went to prom together, married each other before we started college life, went to the same college, and graduated on the same year.

I know that it sounds like we were attached to the hip, but we did and still do have our differences. I love Star Wars, while Kristoff loves anything and everything Star Trek. I wanted to be an English teacher, while Kristoff wanted to be a computer engineer. Kristoff succeeded in his dreams, while I didn't.

…Okay, that last one sounded too depressing. What I should have said that I found a new dream. I always loved my English classes and loved books in general. I finished the four-year part of my college life and got my Bachelor's Degree, but before I could actually get my Teacher licensure, I became pregnant. With twins.

So, I stayed away from anymore school related stuff and cut my hours on my part time jobs. But as much as my family and Kristoff's family tried, I grew bored. And when I get bored, I write. It was a habit that I picked up when I was small and has never really gone away. From little rants on the edges of my notebook to forcing myself to finish some essay, writing helped in keeping my brain all calm and focused.

At that time, I began to write for my future sons. With some illustrative help from my cousin and a hard cover, little kid books on friendly yetis and traveling butterflies soon began to fill the little bookshelf for them. It was all fun to me, but my husband had an ingenious streak in him.

Try to imagine my surprise when he brought up the topic of me being an actual writer? Seriously, I was. I never really gave much thought of being a writer because I wanted to teach others how to write themselves. But Kristoff saw that I was wilting away from boredom as the pregnancy continued. So, I gave it a shot.

A hop, a skip, and a leap later, I became the mother to Olaf and Marshall Bjorgman and a somewhat accomplished writer. I'm no Doctor Seuss, but I made a pretty awesome impact with my books.

I guess miracles do happen, huh?

Anyway, I loved my new job. Being my own boss and having so much more time with my sons was a blessing that I could have never imagined. Kristoff was the best father for them and both sides of the family loved those boys. My life was nearly perfect as the years past by. More books were written, the boys grew up, and Kristoff was still the man I loved. So much so that on Olaf's and Marshall's sixth birthday, we told them about an extra special present: that the two of them were going to be big brothers.

I still wished that I had a camera ready when I told them. They were so happy and poor Olaf began to cry with how happy he was. He couldn't stop yelling that he was going to be the best big brother ever as he hugged my belly gently. Marshall was always my quiet child, but I could still see the excitement in his eyes as he too hugged me and his unborn baby brother.

In all the happiness, there was one snag: the apartment that we lived in for years could not hold another child. As a family, we began house hunting across our little county, but the news spread fast and soon, my in-laws, parents, cousin, and sister began to join in. It didn't take long before we found a beautiful house. Two-stories, a large lawn, a forest to the back and west, while farmland was to the east of the house. The pavement of the street was pretty good and the walkway to the house only needed a bit of weeding to be done. The house itself was a bit out of the ways, but it wasn't isolated as we were able to talk to our neighbors pretty easily.

Also, it was a bit of a fixer-upper, but it wasn't in need of extreme renovations. An overgrown yard, some messed up electronics, and a few unfamiliar animal tracks were the worst of our problems with the place. But it was nothing that a good lawnmower and a couple of calls to the electrician and animal control couldn't handle. The whole family pitched in and got the place looking as awesome as it could get before the contractions started.

At the end of that day, I was a mother to my dear Elijah. But the pregnancy wasn't as smooth as with the twins. The contractions started sooner than was planned, and Kristoff raced like a madman to get me to the hospital. Elijah was born premature, and his lungs were not as strong as the doctors would have liked, but we got through.

It wasn't easy, but we got through.

And finally getting out of that hospital with my new baby boy was the most freeing experience that I had in a long time.

Then, the family gave me the surprise of my life as we didn't drive to the apartment, but up to the house. My sneaky husband and his sneakier family got everything settled with the landlord and moving company to get the new house ready for little Elijah. They even prepared a little post-baby shower for us. The hormones kind of kicked in soon after and made me into a happily crying mess.

After that, I thought that life would be good. More books to write, more memories to make, and more milestones to reach, right? It should have been. My life was pretty awesome. Even if some people would think that it's boring, I had all that I needed. A loving family, good food, great health, and a clear future.

I wasn't looking for adventure, but I soon found out that it was looking for me.

You see, we never really checked to see if someone, or something, was already living in our new home. We had to find that out the hard way.

* * *

 **AN: Yep, it's all my fault. I got distracted. …Again. But I kind of like my train of thought on this little story. I got a plan and a bit of an outline for the plot, but besides that, I'm making this up as I go along.**

 **But I'm going to make one thing clear: Little Rose is still my main writing focus. I'll flicker between this one and Little Rose, but I'll be spending more time on the latter. But you can all count on me to complete each and every story I do. That's a certainty.**

 **Also, if any are interested in knowing the animatic I got inspired from, don't be afraid to ask. If you all don't want to know, then okay. Sit back and enjoy this little show.**

 **And as always: comments, concerns, and** **informed** **critiques are always welcomed around here.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**

 **P.S. DAMN YOU, PLOT BUNNIES!**


	2. Little Clues

**Hello, everybody. I hope you're all having a good morning like I am.**

 **Still, more inspiration mean more chapters. Even though this one came out of the blue, I'm gonna finish it. Since the plot bunnies haven't finished their romping about in my mind, I got plenty of ideas for each and every one of my stories. The problem is finding the time to type it all down.**

 **And so, without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own a thing, but I like putting up a weird plot.**

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Little Clues

Remember when I said that I hated mornings with a passion?

Well… maybe I was being a bit too specific. And maybe a little dramatic about it. Don't get me wrong, I still hate the sunrise. But it's deeper than that.

I have a really hard time getting started on stuff. This rule of mine applies to a lot of things in my life. Hell, it took me a whole year of prodding and begging from friends and family before I went on my first 'official' date with Kristoff.

Everything seems to act like base-jumping to me. It's hard to actually convince myself to jump off the cliff in the first place, but when I do, the worries fall away and the puzzle pieces fall into place…

…But the thing about base-jumping is that you have to place your faith into a flimsy piece of nylon called a parachute. If it doesn't open the first time, then you are done for. So, it's in your best interest to make sure to pack that nylon correctly.

Even though it may sound like a bit of a stretch, my mornings are like that no matter where I live.

So, I wasn't too surprised that the day after I've moved into the new home, I woke up late. My first clue should have been the little but bright streams of light that peak through my new bedroom curtains. Naturally, my brain decided to ignore that and fall right back to sleep because sleep was far too beautiful to miss and the day's surprises could wait a little bit longer.

It usually takes four different alarms to finally make my lazy ass crawl itself from my bed. On that day, it took my mother-in-law nearly dragging me off of the bed before my body woke up.

Sometimes, no one can ever appreciated Bulda's strength until they're literally thrown over her shoulder. When I was awake enough to ask, I found out that I was awaken at noon.

It took a moment for that to sink in. Literally, it did, since I hadn't slept in that late since before the twins were born. After my little déjà vu moment had passed, my mother-in-law finally convinced me out of bed with the promise of a home-cooked breakfast.

…Well, brunch, but you know what I meant.

Anyways, I know that all of this probably seems all dull and lifeless of an intro. I mean, who wants to hear a speeded up version of some anonymous woman's life? As much as I like reading, I'd probably skip that book, too.

But after the whole rush of the pregnancy, the party, the house, and every other emotional turn that one woman can handle had started to fade, things started to pop up.

Nothing too noticeable at first, but it added up slowly, but steadily.

It took an entire week before I could finally act like a normal mom and start doing things with my little boys. The labor did much more damage than I'd ever like to go through again, which left me much weaker after my return. However, it only took a glance at my baby boy to reassure me that it was worth it, for the moments I spent with Elijah were priceless. Especially when he was asleep.

At first, I never taken the time to notice his sleeping patterns. My experience with Olaf and Marshall had prepared me for the weeks of the oddest sleep cycles to mankind. It was only after my mother-in-law mentioned a little snip of detail, did I really see an odd fact: Elijah never sleeps alone.

A crib was already bought and set up within his own room, but its use was not truly appreciated. Even when whomever he was with at the time was sure that Elijah was asleep, the moment he was left alone in his crib, he awakens. The small radio in his room made sure that we heard his sharp cries. The motherly instincts in me and Bulda could never stand to hear them, and immediately entered. When either of us had him in our arms, Elijah would quiet down immediately.

Bulda tried to fix this by bringing in an old relic of a rocking chair with her, so someone could stay with Elijah as he slept. The deep grains and sturdy build just screamed 'family antique', so I made a big fuss on her giving it to me. She merely shrugged it off and said it was for the boys. As nonchalant as she tries to be about it, I knew that the chair belonged to her late father who she loved and missed dearly.

I only backed down after clearly stating that the old seat was still hers even though I was using it.

Staying with him in the room helped to keep Elijah asleep for longer periods of time, but we could not always do that. Summer was ending and school supplies had to be bought, Kristoff had his job, and as much as I appreciated everything Bulda had done so far, she still had her own children to look after. I could sometimes catch her calling back home and more than once did I welcome Bulda's family into my home as they visited her.

Yet, all things must come to an end. After the first month and a half, Bulda left and school started, leaving me truly alone with Elijah for the first time.

It was then that his sleeping patterns really started to show as he truly would not sleep alone. Though he had started to sleep more during the night, he still had to take naps during the day. Even if I tried to put him in his crib for a nap, he would wake up and scream his tiny lungs out the moment I left the room. The little radio made sure that I always knew that.

Even though the rocking chair allowed me to sit comfortably in his room, I still had responsibilities around the house. A home this big had to have someone having the time to clean every square inch of the place. I thought that I would have the time to do that, but with Elijah's sleeping patterns, I was lucky if I could do laundry without the radio firing up with noise. In the end, I gave up and assembled a stroller that my cousin gave me for the post baby shower and soon, Elijah ended up sleeping more in that stroller than he did in his own crib.

With that problem fixed up, I forgot about his weird habit and I began to take Elijah with me all over the house as I worked. The bathroom, kitchen, laundry room, all the bedrooms, and even my office were visited by the little stroller.

Balancing a mom, an author, and a wife was no easy task, but practice helped a lot during those days. Also having Olaf, Marshall, and Kristoff helping out at any chance they could certainly eased my mind. But during school and work hours, I managed well on my own. My balancing act became so good that I started taking Elijah outdoors.

Being cooped up for weeks on end was a quick way to drive me crazy, so I took little walks around the area. After taking my first solid look on the place, it was a pretty easy to compliment it considering the location. The forest looked bright with life and from one of the highest hills, I could just make out the buildings of the nearby city. The next door farmers seem to be doing great with whatever they're growing as the bushes' leaves gleamed green and little bell-shaped flowers twinkled into small berries.

As we began to ease into the new house, we all started to discover more little hints of oddness. Nothing really major or insanely wrong. It was just little complaints that sprung up here and there.

Kristoff often complained about some animal hair being stuck to his clothes while others were disappearing altogether. We could never guess at where the hair had come from, because we didn't own any pets, and after a search through the laundry revealed nothing of the disappearances.

I can still remember how the slim strands of fur really stood out with their white hue as I went outside to the drying lines and saw his favorite black tee absolutely covered with it. I also remembered why there was sometimes an odd number of socks hung to dry when I clearly remembered their being even numbers.

Olaf, being my adventurer, immediately assumed that it had to be the work of an albino squirrel. Don't ask me how or why; Olaf just knew.

I didn't even have time to facepalm before Olaf led Marshall outside to search for more evidence. Belatedly, I called out the reminders of my outside rules as the two raced away into an adventure. As much as Olaf and Marshall loved the woods, I always made sure that they understood to keep themselves near the edge and in site of the house.

Another oddity occurred while my boys were still on their quest for the albino squirrel. Knowing that the two of them would be out for hours on end, I always made sure to supply those adventures. The Lunchables snacks and water bottles were always placed within Marshall's explorer pack.

Well, one day, the two returned home with bundles of ripped plastic and told me that something ate their lunch. Apparently, Marshall left his pack on the forest floor to help Olaf with climbing up a tree. After evidence of the albino squirrel remained elusive, the two had returned to the ground and were hungry. But before they could eat their lunch, they saw that something else ate it.

They returned home with the ripped up packaging with hungry bellies. Being overstocked with Lunchables packets, I just gave them another and as they ate, I looked over it.

The slim plastic on top was torn to shreds on both of the packets. The harder plastic that made up the tray was scratched up a bit but not completely destroyed. The food had clearly been tampered with by something: the slices of ham were completely gone, the slices of cheese were nibbled on by sharp teeth, and the Oreo cookies had the crème licked off by a small tongue. The only piece of food that survived unharmed were the salty Ritz crackers.

And overall the packets, slim white hairs clung on to any surface that it could.

There wasn't a single doubt in my mind: something was out there. And it was definitely a lot bigger than a squirrel. Albino…maybe.

At that time, I could not really look into what had done this. Looking after an infant was no easy task, so I had to wait until I had time. Meanwhile, I had put strict to both Marshall and Olaf to not return to the forest. It wasn't too hard, since school took up much of their attention, but my little Olaf was upset. It was only after I gave a Scout Girl's promise as to continue his dedicated investigation that Olaf cheered up enough to play in the front yard.

But to be completely honest, with or without that promise, I was going to find out. It was only during the hours just before bed did I have the time to pick and place the little breadcrumb of clues together,

One. Whatever it was, it was outside. All the clothes must have caught the fur or had been stolen by being hung out to dry. Since we only used the dryer machine on the rainy days,

Two. It's not a rodent because squirrels can't have the claws capable enough to dent and break the plastic around the food.

Three. It's not a vegetarian, because of the stolen Lunchables food being the ham itself. It loved that pork.

Four. If it's outside, then it could be bothering Elijah while he tries to sleep. Since his room does have rather large windows, it wouldn't be hard to see something through the pane.

Five. Possibly albino from the white fur.

A very odd array of clues, but I couldn't find out how they fit together. And during those hours where my head began to chase itself around, I could only think of one thing.

 _How in the hell am I going to find something that acts like a ghost?_

* * *

 **AN. I know, I know. Not many people are attracted to this, but I really can't stop thinking about this story. I would almost call it annoying, since I can only focus on my other tales when this one has been attended to.**

 **This is pushing back my other works, but I won't let it stop me. A little more juggling work for me, but I'll live. And with all of that juggling, I think I'll be able to do a double update next week. Just have to make that final push to the finish. In the meantime, I hope the mystery in this chapter will be enjoyed.**

 **Still, do you all have any ideas onto what the little creature can be? ;)**

 **And as always: concerns, comments and informed critiques are always welcomed around here.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**

 **P.S. DAMN YOU, PLOT BUNNIES!**


	3. Short Interactions

**Hello again, everybody.**

 **Another week means another chapter. And this week, this story starts to tip into the weirdness that I've been wanting to go for a while. Hope you all like it.**

 **In case anyone doesn't know, this is the other half of my double-update. It's for this story and for Little Rose. And I'll tell you, updating both of my stories is pretty weird but fun. If I find more time, I'll do more of this.**

 **So, without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Still own nothing, but a girl can dream.**

* * *

Short Interactions

Well… I did find the answer to my question, but not in the way I expected it.

I knew what I was trying to find wasn't a real ghost, but it had the same effect as one. Quiet, undetectable, and smart. Just the thought of invisible, watching eyes gave me the creeps. I personally blame my paranoia on my creepypasta binges that I would do on my earlier dates with Kristoff. Ever since the first creepypasta weekend, it became a bit of a tradition.

And right then, I couldn't stop the thoughts of Slenderman from creeping into my mind. Thank God that my worries ended as soon as they did.

However, in the short amount of time that I was on the lookout, I did find more answers and questions. As I took out the trash the next morning, all I needed was one glance into my garbage bin to see the carnage. The garbage bags were shredded and rotten food littered the inside of the bin. And, of course, white animal hair was clinging to the smeared garbage.

I honest to God facepalmed.

No wonder I'm having some animal issues. I'm practically waving around a giant sign and inviting all the woodland critters to an all-you-can-eat exotic buffet. It's every raccoon's and opossum's wet dream.

But I highly doubted that it was a raccoon or an opossum. While going into CSI mode, I could see tracks. It must had been a light rain shower last night as the dirt around the garbage bin did a good job on keeping the prints fresh-looking. Taking my phone out and snapping a few pics of some of the clearer paw prints was the easy past. Matching said paw prints to the animal who did them was not.

This was where Google comes in and becomes a lifesaver. And with my search engine at the ready, I looked started simply with 'raccoon paw prints'. With the showers of clipart, I could have stopped there, but I wanted to be certain. So, with a 'real raccoon paw prints' in the search engine, I came up with genuine pictures of raccoon tracks pressed into snow or mud. It was clearly not my mystery creature since raccoon's paws show up with five toes, not four. The same thing happened when I typed up 'real opossum paw prints. My paw prints had four toes, not five, but with more searching I found that a fox's and wolf's tracks look very close to my own set of prints.

After looking through most of the animals that I thought naturally lived in the forest, I switched to pets. It could be some stray that grew up in the wild and found out how easy it was to steal a good meal from the bin. And apparently, a dog's and cat's tracks match up pretty well, too. And since I'm not Bear Grylls, I don't automatically know which creature did what or who was where.

With different combinations of ages and genders, it could be either one or all of my guesses. Foxes, wolves, wild cats, and wild dogs. Oh my.

But what I could do was make sure that whatever that was coming to my little home would be disappointed. I did so with keeping my food away from their mouths by keeping a good pair of bungee cords close by so I could seal the lids shut with it. No food equals no interest, right? Well, the bags did remain intact and the food did remain inside the bags and not become smeared onto the walls again.

With all of the good that happened after just a few days of my new behavior, it seemed that only good things could come. While the urban and rural jungles had their separate rules, we were learning pretty well to deal with our woodland neighbors.

Well, we also learned that celebrating too early was not a good thing to do in the rural jungle. Why? Because after only a week had passed from my little victory, the culprits showed themselves. Figuratively and literally.

Allow me to paint out the scene: The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the leaves were beautiful. Although autumn sucks from all of the back-to-school hype, nature truly shines during this season. I just love to watch the goldish red and brownish green leaves chased each other in the wind that carried more than just a hint of frost. It was also kind of fun changing outfits as the chill started to settle in the land.

So, there was me, all snug within my sweatpants and thick sweater ready to go out to another walk around my home. And there's Elijah being all snug with his own warm sweater, sweatpants, and little beanie seated inside the A.T.S. Even now, I get a giggle at the name for that odd stroller. My quiet Marshall loved anything with four wheels, so after assembling the weird three-wheeled stroller gifted from my cousin, he was interested with its design. The sharp turns, easy control, and light weight of the stroller had combined to inspire the title: the All-Terrain Stroller.

Anyway, with one foot outside the door, another foot inside, one hand on the stroller, another hand ready to lock the door, my eyes are immediately drawn to one key aspect to the outside world.

There was a strange fluff of black and white that had placed itself on my porch.

Trust me, in the rainbow of colors that is autumn, they were exactly the very last colors I would expect to see on that morning. But it was there and it was blinking at me. Long haired, gold eyed, and silent as the grave, a cat stared at me. Waiting.

For what, I don't know, but I wasn't going to bother it. Although I had awesome Spidey-Mom instincts to detect danger with, it's never a good idea to approach an animal you don't know with a two and a half month old baby. So, after locking my door and giving a little wave to the weird feline, I carefully move the stroller down the baby-proof stroller ramp and went on my walk.

During my routine walk, I didn't really think about the cat much. I mean, I most likely just found the mystery culprit to the odd problems to my home, but it wasn't the time. I was already in a habit of thinking about other things during this time of day. Ideas for some of my stories trickled through my head, while chores to be done were waiting in the wings. Memories of some of the games Olaf and Marshall would play with the leaves would conflict with the present quietness of nature. And under all of this, a small pang of hunger rumbled in my stomach.

Still, I had to wait a long while before I could cook something up. My walks were longs ones since the place is so huge. At best, the walks took fifty minutes to make the journey back home. At worst, since little Elijah does get restless and fussy at times, it takes about an hour and a half.

Today was a better day, and I returned at home an hour later. Even from a distance, the first thing that I immediately recognized was the patch of black and white on my porch. The cat was still here. Quiet and watching as I climbed back up the ramp. But once I was on the porch, I saw something was different. The cat had a mouse in its claws. The brown fur of the dead rodent stood out against the white on its paws as clearly as the small splash of blood on the cat's white jawline.

I was surprised. To me, the cat had looked like some pretty overfed housecat cause of its size. Taking a closer look at the weird cat, I could see the dirt on its fur as clearly as I could see the tangles that the long fur had gotten into. Those types of tangles that took a lifetime of self-care to make. It wasn't mangled, just dirty. It wasn't fat, just big. It wasn't tame; it was a wild cat at heart.

Making sure as to not startle the feline, I carefully opened the door. It had its business and I had mine, so I did my best as to not disturb it. Nevertheless, it never looked away from me. The gold eyes watched every movement and before I closed the door again, I spoke out to it.

"Good catch, little guy. Bon appétit."

And as I closed the door, I thought I heard it meow back.

After that, the day went as normally as always. Actually, it went a bit better than normal as Elijah was very calm. Even though he had taken a nap during the walk, all he needed was a bottle of milk before drifting off to sleep, once again freeing me up to the house. All my chores sped by and sooner than I expected, I was back in my office with a sleeping Elijah in his A.T.S. and my newest draft on my book opened on my laptop.

I worked on it until I heard the telltale sounds of the school bus. Carefully maneuvering through the halls, I went to reheat lunch for my boys as I imagined their sneakers running home and their backpacks bouncing along their backs. With the smell of pasta and bread sticks in the air, I had just finished serving two good platefuls of food before the door opened again.

"Mami, Mami!?" That was Olaf, probably racing down the hall with Marshall to fill their hungry stomachs. As I turned to the kitchen's opening, you wouldn't believe how my eyes shot up at the sight before me.

Olaf was all smiles and bright cheeks. Marshall was oddly the same. I say so, since he was always my quiet child. He expresses his joy more with his eyes than his face, but today, his smile was radiant. And I had absolutely no problem in understanding why.

Because in the arms of Marshall laid a familiar patch of black and white.

 _Meow._

Well… things have turned a bit more interesting.

* * *

 **AN. Kitty! Hmm… taking in a stray wild cat that seems to get along with children is never a good idea. But, I'll make it work for my story. You'll see. ;)**

 **And as always: concerns, comments and informed critiques are always welcomed around here.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**


	4. Tick, Tock, Drip, Drop

**Hello everybody on this wondrous Thursday.**

 **Another week means another chapter, and I'm cautiously liking this one. Now that I'm kind of through with world-building, I can get to the weirdness.**

 **And without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Sadly, I only own my brain. Everything else belong to their original owners.**

 **Warning: Blood. Enough said.**

Can't Have Just One

Apparently, cats love pasta. Or a certain black-and-white cat loves it.

After catching Marshall sneaking bits and pieces of his own delicious dish to the feline, I ended up making a third bowl for our uninvited neighbor. I'll admit, I did cave a bit when I saw that the cat got tomato sauce all over his face. It was adorable and I may have taken a secret picture of it, but cuteness only lasts for so long.

After all three of the little hungry beasts had eaten, I looked over the smallest one closer. I'm certain that it was no house cat by any means, but his calm behavior screams otherwise. Nevertheless, I keep my eyes on him whenever Olaf or Marshall were close, which meant that I had my eyes on them the entire time. Good thing that I'm naturally awesome at multi-tasking.

That was how the rest of the day was spent. Olaf and Marshall had a blast with playing ball with the rugged cat, while my eagle eyes were locked onto the trio. But the play didn't last long at all. Soon, the cat was sitting by the front door, slightly pawing at the wooden obstacle while ignoring more invitations to play by my now confused boys.

But I knew what the feline wanted.

"Olaf, Marshall," Grabbing the attentions of the two loves of my life, I try to explain to them the best way I could. "Do you remember how you found the cat?"

"Yeah, he's pretty awesome!"

"But… he's not ours."

Olaf's and Marshall's responses were night and day. Excitement and resignation combat with those two voices, but I still have to explain this to them.

"You're right, Marshall. The cat is not ours, but I'm sure that he belongs to a very nice family nearby. That's why he wants to go home so badly." Before both faces could fall in sadness, I hurry on with my explanation. "But I know he had a fun time with you both. If you say goodbye nicely, maybe he'll come back to play."

Taking my words to heart, Olaf rushes to give the cat the warmest hug he can give. Marshall doesn't move though, and I patiently wait next to him.

"Mami?" The small word is all it takes to grab my attention. "Do you really think Marshmallow will come back?" The look of sadness reflects in his brown eyes as much as it echoes within his voice. It breaks my heart, but a little smile comes to my face as I tell the truth.

"I know so. You two have been so nice to him that he will love to play with you more. And," I crouch right next to him like I'm about to tell a super important secret. "I'm sure that he'll probably be back for more of my pasta."

It's a little known fact that I have some great cooking skills, but I really shine in Italian recipes. From lasagna to eggplant parmesan and every last Italian dish in between, I excel at them. I have no doubt that he'll be back.

The twinkle returns into my son's eyes as goes over to the currently hugged feline and scratches behind its ears. I let a moment pass as both of my boys gently say their goodbyes and little bargains for the cat's return; I even overhear Olaf promising the cat that he would buy a mouse toy for his next return.

Walking up, I was slightly sad as I broke up the trio.

"Olaf, Marshall, you still have homework, don't you?"

With a nod from both of them, I send them up to start on their school work before I'm left with the cat. I looked at the pair of golden eyes for a moment before opening the door.

But no fluff of black-and-white rushes out. He was still there. Still looking up at me. With my intuition kicking in, I bend down to hold my hand out. Going slowly, I gently stroke the white jaw before moving to scratch his black cheek. The burly, tough cat was suddenly leaning into my touch and I could feel the vibrations of his purring.

"Be careful out there, Marshmallow."

With one parting stroke down his spine, the newly christened Marshmallow strode down the steps, before suddenly turning around. Disappearing for only a moment, the feline comes from underneath the stairs with a brown blur in his mouth. I could just make it the mouse's thin tail before the large cat bounds off into the direction of the forest.

"Sneaky, little bastard." With its temperament, skill, and overall cuteness, it was easy to understand how a random wild cat got so big in the first place. And while the cat had his business, I had my own. Since I was suddenly aware of my little intruder, I might as well be prepared for the future.

With a simple text to Kristoff with a 'pretty please' added at the end had that out of my mind. Before I could think too much about what I had asked, a small cry of Elijah had completely taken my attention for the rest of the day.

And as the days turn to weeks, Marshmallow became a fixed member of the family.

He was still a wild cat, through and through, but he was a little gentleman as well. He always seemed to show up around noon, as every time I leave for my walk, he's already waiting on the porch. And every time I return from my walk, he's already got a mouse, a squirrel, or a bird in his jaws. One time, he even caught a huge rat: I gave him an extra treat on that day.

Speaking of treats, I had asked Kristoff to buy some for him. Along with some flea medication, a soft brush, and ball of string, I had a very confused husband return to me. After Olaf and Marshall excitedly explain about their newest friend, Kristoff was all for it. I knew that my husband was more of a dog person with his childhood puppy, Sven, but the moment Kristoff meet Marshmallow, he only petted the burly cat and agreed with me.

"That cat really is a gentleman."

Soon, a little mouse toy was added into the living room as well, courtesy of Kristoff.

Anyway, as I continued to cook for my family, I did some research on what cats can and can't eat to make sure as to not make him sick. The plate I first used to feed Marshmallow was now his official plate; Olaf and Marshall made sure of that with painting the cat's new name on the surface with some non-toxic paint. After dinner, there would be some playtime, and an hour later, the goodbyes came.

They were easier as Marshmallow's dependability became more and more apparent by the day. The days that the black-and-white feline was around were great. No joke. A relaxing aura never left the house while the boys never stop trying to find or make different toys for him.

If you still think that I'm over exaggerating or lying, well… I wished I wasn't.

A month after the monochrome cat entered our lives, he was gone. For five long days, there was no sight of him on the porch, his bowl remained empty, and his toys gathered dust. The cloud cover over those days seemed to reflect our moods. As hard as me and Kristoff tried, our boys took it hard.

Although Olaf was louder with his sadness, I worried more for Marshall.

Between the two, Marshall was closest to Marshmallow. Their quiet and easy-going personalities made them a perfect match. Whenever not playing, the huge feline was seated on Marshall's lap and being petted or brushed by my boys. And no matter how hard Olaf tried, Marshmallow only choose Marshall's lap.

Now, Marshall's head hung, while he slipped into silence. Olaf was the opposite; expressing his sadness loud and clear. I once caught him preparing for an expedition. His school supplies littered the floor, while his book bag was filled with snacks, juices, and blankets of all kinds. He declared that he was going to find Marshmallow and nothing could stop him. The argument that followed on that day ended with Olaf grounded and crying and with me feeling horrible.

Even little Elijah seemed to notice. He was crying more often, slept less, and absolutely refused to sleep alone once more. For that month, he began to sleep within his own crib, with the radio, of course. But all that progress vanished as quickly as Marshmallow had.

Those were… bad days.

But on the sixth day, when Olaf and Marshall were just about to leave for the bus, I heard them yell. Afraid for them, I rushed out, leaving Kristoff with Elijah. What I saw on the porch lifted my heart as easily as it burned it.

Blood. The porch was splattered with it. Clumps of fur and red paw prints led to a group of felines. One that stood out was Marshmallow, but just barely. If I had to bet, most of the blood belonged to him. An ear was torn, his long pelt was more ragged looking, and the white was painted red. Next to him were kittens. Three of them, in fact. All of the kittens looked beamingly healthy in comparison to Marshmallow, but they were really small. The group of three must have fallen asleep as Marshmallow curled protectively around them.

 _Meow._

Olaf was silent for once, looking desperately between me and Marshmallow. Marshall was crying. He had taken off his light sweater and wrapped it around Marshmallow as if that would protect and magically heal his cuts. Acting fast, I grab Olaf's shoulder and turn him to face me.

"Olaf, go to the upstairs closet and get the really big pillow. You know which one, right?" He quickly nods, before disappearing inside. Turning to Marshall, I gently pry him away from his beloved friend.

"Marshall, I need your help to make Marshmallow feel better." Those words were far more than enough to have his brown orbs locked on me, "Go to the bathroom and get the medicine box. It's under the sink and it's the white one with the red cross."

Left alone once again, the gold eyes closed up as I carefully rub underneath his chin. Ignoring the blood smearing on my finger, I gently pet him.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

 _Meow._

"Yeah, yeah. You got your black-and-white ass handed to you. You're going to be just fine."

In the silence, I look over the kittens somewhat. Like I said, there were three and they were small. One was pure black, one was grey, and the smallest was orange. Before I could pick one up, I hear another set of soft paw steps. Looking up, I see white and red, but it's not Marshall with the first-aid kit.

It's another cat. But that's as much as I could get through my brain before one big fact hits me straight in the face. Even if it was not as battle-worn and bloody as it currently was, I could tell that the feline before me was pure white.

 **AN. Connections, people! Connections are important!**

 **This is one of my more subtle stories, so it's slower paced and doesn't have much action. There will be, but in due time. Also, I apologize for the cat blood. If any animal lovers are offended, I do understand you. I'm an animal lover, myself, and I would never condone/allow any cruelty to animals. But the story calls for it to happen, so I warmed you.**

 **And as always: concerns, comments and informed critiques are always welcomed around here.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**


	5. Tending and Bending

**Good Afternoon, everybody.**

 **Another two weeks means another chapter. More oddness and cuteness ahead! I can hardly wait!**

 **So, without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Warning: Again, blood. Sorry**

* * *

Tending and Bending

So… since the mini heart attack at my shock didn't knock me out, I nearly jumped out of my skin when Marshall and Olaf popped out from behind me.

Muttering a thanks, I turn to grab the pillow from Olaf. I smother a giggle at the sight of the pillow easily spilling around my son's arms. It was a baby shower gift that never really had a use for me. Some fancy type of hypoallergenic fabric that's good for children to sleep on, but it was easily four times longer than Elijah was tall. Despite its size, the pillow easily found a place within my closet to never see the light of day.

The only thing I could think of was how lucky we were to not throw away the fluffy monstrosity as I lay it on the cleanest part of the porch. Treating Marshmallow as if he was made of glass, I moved him onto the mound of fluff. I notice that he's skinny as if all of the food he gained from us just never happen. As much as my heart clenched, I focus on taking the same care with the three little bundles as I tuck them right next to the bloodied, thin feline.

Barely looking up at my son, I take the small med-kit from Marshall. I was no paramedic, but I being a mother of two has certainly taught me a thing or two. As much as I brag about multi-tasking, I really am focused on what I need to apply to Marshmallow's wounds as I search through the kit. Snatching at what randomly comes into my view, I soon have a small pair of scissors, a pack of moist toilettes, two rolls of gauze, several rolls of bandages, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a bag of cotton balls, and a pair of tweezers.

With my jackpot of supplies, I get to work. I start at the nasty looking wound on his ear. I couldn't really do much than clean up the clotted blood with the toilettes from the area before adding in the peroxide. I used the cotton balls and tweezers to apply the disinfectant. If the peroxide stung Marshmallow, I certainly couldn't tell. He seemed to know that I was trying to help as he held perfectly still.

The hard part came with the fact that Marshmallow had a lot of fur. I carefully removed Marshall's sweater from around the bloodied cat and set it to the side. As I parted the ragged coat to look for the really bad cuts that needed to be treated, I couldn't help as one hand looked for wounds while the other one petted the gentle feline. I also couldn't help, but coo at the content expression that came on his muzzle as I nuzzled his cheek. He looked like he fought off a pack of wolves, and yet he purred when petted as he still bled.

"You really are a wild kitty-cat, are you, Marshmallow?" The battered black-and-white fighter only began to purr louder as I reached under his chin.

And with my persistence, I found the heavy scratches on his hips, a nasty bite on his left foreleg, and another uglier bite on his right side. The thought that he really did pick a fight with a pack of dogs returned to my head as I quickly clip the fur surrounding the wounds. The side wound as the worst, so I started there before moving onto the hips and leg.

The white toilettes and cotton balls quickly became red as they were used to wipe the congealed blood that clung to the injuries. The peroxide bottle was nearly halfway used by the time that I was satisfied with myself. I may have overdone it slightly with the disinfectant, but I certainly hated how deep these three wounds were on him and how many smaller cuts Marshmallow also had. The gauze and bandages were easily wrapped around Marshmallow's foreleg and waist, but I left the scratches on his hips alone since the bandages didn't easily go around them.

At the end, I had a slightly less bloodied, pile of bandaged black-and-white fur. The pillow became slightly stained in blood and peroxide, but I couldn't really give a damn. As long as our little gentleman was comfortable, I was happy.

I was petting his unscarred ear as I was interrupted.

"Are you sure that you aren't a paramedic?" The gruff, mirthful voice belonged to my husband and best friend. It was a running joke after I fixed up his hand. When he was younger, he was a bit of a handy man and did odd jobs whenever he could find them. After an accident with a car engine crushing and slicing his hand up really good, I kind of blanked out of everything. On the way to the hospital, I did the best I could with the long sleeve I had cut from my own, then-favorite sweater and a water bottle.

It was one of the few times that my hands were as steady as a rock.

"You're never going to forget that." That same stupid grin that he wore when he got his hand messed up was there.

"Nope," The cheeky bastard that is the love of my heart bent down to pet Marshmallow with one arm while the other held a snoozing Elijah. "So, how's the fighter? He looked like he gave something a real run."

"Well, he took a beating as much as he gave it. I don't really want to keep him outside tonight." It was true. Marshmallow was in no condition to fight off another attack from whatever did this. The 'pack of dogs' idea was really stuck in my head.

"Well, the basement could be a good place to put him. Quiet and safe enough to help him get better," Kristoff replied. And it wasn't a half-bad idea. A bit of dusting and brooming should be good enough for Marshmallow to rest in. As I stewed the idea over, Kristoff's hand moved over to the three still-sleeping bundles of fur.

"Good job, daddy," he said to the feline. And it was obvious that Marshmallow was the father of the kittens. His lengthy tail and long fur were easily seen on all of the kittens. One of them even had his black fur. But as I looked closer at the trio, it was also easy to see that they weren't completely their father.

But before I could really think about that, it was then that I also noticed that there was only the three of us around Marshmallow. A look around confirmed that we were alone. Before I could question it, Kristoff spoke up.

"I already sent Olaf and Marshall to school. They should be on the bus by now."

"They're not going to focus on anything with all of… this." I gesture lamely to the bloodied pillow and its occupants. Honestly, even I wasn't in the mood for writing after this early morning scare.

"Yeah, but daddy and babies are going to need the quiet." He said this in a sing-song tone that I couldn't help but giggle at.

"Since when were you an animal guru?" He really had just the right things to say to keep this crazy morning from getting any worse.

"Always."

"Well, all-knowing guru. Don't you have work?"

"I called ahead and said that my car won't start. They gave me a couple of hours before I have to show up. Might be docked from my pay, but I'm here and staying here." I think that it's just a 'guy' thing that makes him always love showing off the leniency at his job. Managing the state's largest ice manufactory does have its perks, like choosing when you come in.

"You really do love managing the world."

"Only my part of the world." He kissed me before talking again. "I'll put Eli in the stroller and fix up the basement a bit."

"Alright. Grab me the mop." Kristoff hums in acknowledgement as he reenters the house. I really need to clean up the porch before the smell attracts the wrong kind of visitor. The images of teeth are on the edge of my vision as I carefully avoid touching Marshmallow's bandages.

Kristoff soon returns with the child-filled stroller, the mop, and a wet paper towel. The third item confuses me until my husband points at my hands. They're bloodied from working with the blood-stained fur. Wiping the gore off, I reach for the Swiffer left by Kristoff. Thanking god that the wood on the patio was waxed, I mopped up the mess without too much trouble. By the end, the absorbent pad of the Swiffer was red and black with blood and fur.

Looking beyond, it wasn't hard to see the trail leading back around the house. I followed the drops of red around the side of my house before I stopped. It didn't take much to know that they led into the woods. Making a serious note to call some hard-core animal control service for this, I head back to the porch to freeze at a moving flash of white and red.

A slim feline head poked itself from underneath the stroller ramp before bounding up onto the patio. Taking very quiet steps, I slowly take in the scene. The white cat was almost the opposite of Marshmallow: slim, quick, and graceful. It used those traits to stride over to the pillow and nuzzle the smallest of the pillow's occupants.

Even from where I stood, I could hear the awakening mews of the smaller kittens as the white cat licked them all over. Marshmallow seemed to not be annoyed as he began to groom himself while the white cat touched his kits. Being entranced by the mystery cat, I stupidly step on the wooden staircase, making a slight creak come from the wood.

In a flash much quicker than I expected, the white cat turned about with its hair raised and back slightly arched. All the signs painted a huge 'not friendly' warning that was more obvious than the blood coating the white fur. I stay on the staircase for a while as my thoughts whirl for a bit.

I would bet my writing career that the white cat was the one who stole from the garbage bins and was the mother of the kittens. It made so much sense. The white hairs were her needing to hunt to provide for her babies. The care and attention she lavished on the little trio and Marshmallow's calm mood confirmed it. Also, the slightly swollen teats on the white cat gave it away.

I don't really know how long I was lost in thought before I dared to move again. Since the pillow was slightly off to the right side of the door, I edged towards the left to leave the small family at peace. Still, with my slow and nonthreatening movements, the white cat never let her guard down.

She wasn't hissing, but I wasn't going to prod. Slipping inside with the stroller, I let out a breath that I didn't know I held, but the one thing I did know was that white cat was going to be trouble. If Marshmallow was wild, then the other was full-blown feral.

…Okay, maybe that was over exaggerating, but not untrue. My fears of Marshmallow's wild past coming to hurt my boys quickly faded as I grew to know the patient cat, but this new cat gave off all levels of 'leave me alone.' But the feeling of bones poking sharply from furry skin still tingled in my fingers, and made me move.

Moving into the kitchen, I busy myself with fiddling with cans of cat food. We stocked a few cans whenever we decide to cook something that may not be safe for Marshmallow. Marshmallow seemed to love the stuff as he would eat an entire can at a time. This time, I open two cans and pour the contents into Marshmallow's bowl, nearly overflowing the bowl with a mix of chicken, rice, gravy, and salmon.

Dismissing the thumps of my working husband in the basement, I turn towards the front door. This time, I don't avoid the small family of felines and the white cat notices this immediately.

Arched back and raised hair comes again at the sight of me, but I don't stop. I just continue to move slowly until I reach Marshmallow. Luck was at my side as the mother cat was more concerned with her kittens that I was able to get close to Marshmallow and ignore the now-awake trio.

Going down to a knee, I held the filled dish next to the obviously hungry tomcat as he eagerly reaches to munch it down.

"Bon appetite, Marshmallow."

The cat in question was too busy eating to meow, but I could still hear his content purr as he chowed down. Holding the dish to prevent a mess, I was surprised at the approaching feline form of white and red. Ignoring my hands, the mother cat reaches over to eat some with a more relaxed posture.

And there I was, kneeling in the middle of a peaceful feast, and I really couldn't help the smile on my lips.

* * *

 **AN. I don't know why, but I really like writing these little chapters. Maybe it's my love for slice of life that shines through at these moments. Or maybe it's my animal lover side? Well, I won't question too deeply, and have fun with it while it lasts. ;)**

 **And as always: concerns, comments and informed critiques are always welcomed around here.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**


	6. Namings

***Jahaira drags her way towards her laptop***

 **Too l-long… No u-update… I... I m-must… update…**

 ***Jahaira clicks upon the update button, smiles, and passes out***

 ***Laptop screen is suddenly filled with a pop-up labeled 'In case of emergencies' and replays a recorded message***

 **Hello, hello? Hi! If anyone is hearing this, then I've probably passed out due to college sucking the life out of me. Don't be alarmed, I'll wake up in an hour or two and I promise to make up for being late on my schedule. Still, I finally got a chapter up on one of my stories. I can't hardly wait!**

 **So, without further ado, Enjoy!**

 ***Recorded message ends***

* * *

Namings

After all was said and done, our odd family of six gained four more members.

Thankfully, the following days were pretty calm.

As planned, we moved Marshmallow and the three kittens into the kitty-proof basement. I will forever thank God for duct-tape, but before we could do anything else, the white-furred mother bolted off. The flash of white and red disappearing towards the nearby woods made me sure of it.

With its nervous energy and hair-triggered anger, I was more than delighted that she was gone… at least, for a short while.

The white cat was still the three kittens' mother and they were still too young to be completely weaned from her. So, I naturally freaked out about that fact for the rest of the day. As much as Kristoff tried to calm me, I still lost sleep over it. But what little sleep I had caught had calmed me down a lot.

During next breakfast, without me freaking out over every little detail, I began planning. I already was a mother of three, so feeding little babies through a breast or a bottle was nothing new to me. Whichever people created the powdered baby formula were freakin' geniuses. All I needed to do was do a bit of internet surfing for a few details.

So, the day after Marshmallow's return, a quick stop to a pet shop got me half a dozen cans of powdered kitten formula, but I also got fresh bandages, flea medicine, and some strong antibiotics. With all of the medical supplies used the other day and the many more to be used to patch marshmallow up, stocking up wasn't a bad idea.

However, when I drove up to my home, I found out that all six of those cans would be wasted.

Why?

Well, she was back. And she was furious.

I'm definitely far from being a cat whisperer in any way, shape, or form, but no one in their right mind would walk up to a hissing, spitting, and yowling cat… unless your name was Olaf. Thankfully, Olaf and Marshall had already left for school.

The white mama-cat was completely white this time, probably from a good grooming session. Even from my place in the driveway, its white fur stood out from the darker shaded wood of the porch and door as well as its yowling stood out from the silence.

With my highly-tuned mother-senses, I wisely left Elijah in the car-seat as I left the car. And that was where things got weird. The very second that my door shut, the cat quiet down. I made sure to move as slowly and steadily as possible as I made my way up to the porch. The entire time I could feel and see its eyes on me, and I can say this with 100% truth: it hated me. No cat can glare like that and not try to claw your eyes out.

It was not hard at all to skirt around the death glare and head towards the back. After making sure that my back door was locked, I headed towards the basement. There was only two reasons that the cat would return: one, being my food and two, being her babies. It wasn't that hard to figure out.

Anyway, everything was as it should be in the basement. Marshmallow was in his fluffy throne and the kittens were awake if their soft mewing was any indication. Moving around the few 'presents' that were on the floor, I crouched down next to the resting fighter.

"Hey," was all I could say. Reaching out a hand, I carefully pet his head. Marshmallow's throaty purr was loud in the quietness. Little mews that also sounded close to me made me look around. As ragged as Marshmallow's fur was now, the three kittens were really well hidden in it. Especially the little black cat, as I could only see his blue eyes staring at me from a black patch of Marshmallow's coat. The grey one was ignoring me, too busy batting at Marshmallow's fluffy tail. The small orange kitten was the only one who approached me.

"Hey," I repeated in a higher tone. Despite my need for a longer vocabulary, I was too busy petting the warm little ball of fur who was trying to eat my fingers. Taking that as a cue, I scooped up the entire bed and headed back upstairs.

I did stop by the kitchen to grab Marshmallow's bowl and a whole can of cat food. Maybe the cat wouldn't scratch out my eyes, if I had some real food ready. Tucking the two objects under my arms, I carried on to the back door. Going through the back door and to the front porch was even slower than earlier, but I wasn't taking any chances with the preciousness that I held on the pillow.

But even when I made it back to the front, I wished I was slower. Seriously, that cat hated- no, loathed me. She really looked like she was seconds from tearing my eyes out. The only reason I was still standing was because I was holding her babies.

I still took care to keep each and every one of my movements controlled.

First step: Left foot. Right foot.

Second step: Right foot. Left foot.

Third step: Left foot. Ri- _Don't sneeze!_ …Right foot.

Porch: Right foot. Left foot.

Okay, first part was done. Now, I just had to get to eye level with the hate-filled feline to put down the pillow. Fantastic.

Heading to the left side of the door, and keeping the bestial glare in the corner of my eye, I put the pillow on the ground. I keep my arms steady as I take Marshmallow's bowl and the can of food from under my arm. Letting my muscle memory take over, I filled the bowl with Marshmallow's favorite cat food: chicken and rice.

Holding the dish out, Marshmallow dug in with gusto. Somewhere inside me relaxed a bit as I saw the beaten fighter eating like it was any other day. I didn't move away as to keep the pillow from being food-stained, all the while, the white had stayed away.

I was still holding the now-clean bowl when the white cat decided to approach. She stalked up in a crouching crawl until she was on the side of the pillow with her babies. And taking that as my cue, I shimmied away with a last stroke to Marshmallow's chin.

As much as I would have liked to stay, I still had work to do. I moved the rest of the groceries to the house by the back door as I watched the feline family from the corner of my eye. A stupid smile was on my face as the kittens nursed from their mother and Marshmallow doing some grooming. But with every trip from the house to the car, I knew that I was being watched as well.

I honestly couldn't tell who was watching who more: me watching the cats or the white cat watching me. But in the end, I wasn't mauled to death and the mother remained even after I had packed all the supplies away.

The reason for all of the details of my narrow escape from death by mauling was that it wasn't really over. Don't get me wrong: the days did end up pretty boring after a while. By the end of the first week, Marshmallow's wounds were closing, the kittens grew up, and our family began to forget the days without Marshmallow's calming presence. It was boring, but a good kind of boredom.

But the glare of the white cat never truly went away.

I will admit that it did change a slight bit. You know, the whole 'I'll kill you for fun' glare turned into a more of a 'Stay out of my way' stare. Even though it was from a feline's eyes, the message was loud and clear to me, and I made sure that the same message was loud and clear to Marshall and Olaf.

I still laugh at Olaf making the white cat an excuse for being a 'protective mommy,' but even he understood the importance of leaving the feline be. Still, that didn't stop either of my boys from naming the kittens. Drawing from an age of kids movies, they came up with Jack, Po, and Queen for the little trio. The black one was Jack from the Jack Frost in the 'Rise of the Guardians' movie. His icy-blue eyes made the name fit for him. Po was the little gray kitten and was named from the 'Kung Fu Panda' movie's Po Ping. The tumbling, playful kitten's personality made the name stick like glue. And little Queen was the orange kitten who was named after the 'Cars' movie's Lightning McQueen. With her zipping across in a blur of orange, it wasn't hard to figure out why they named her like that.

Strangely enough, the boys didn't give the white cat a name… but I guess it wasn't too strange with the schedule we had in the house.

The white cat would visit three times a day: just after the school bus left, when I was preparing dinner, and at dusk. Two of those arrivals had the boys at school and they knew not to bother the mother during her last arrival of the day, so they never truly interacted with the white cat. Nevertheless, the pattern was pretty easy. Walking back and forth between the porch and the basement became a habit as I moved the small family. While I kept them indoors most of the day, the second the mama cat's white fur was on my porch, I went to pick them up.

In all honesty, I think I got to know the white cat better than anybody else… and I think the cat would say the same about me. But even with the passing time, we still kept out distances from each other, but we weren't at each other's throats. I'm still thankful for that small miracle whenever I'm able to change Marshmallow's bandages or when I gave the kittens their first bath.

I would describe the relationship between us mothers not as a love-hate and not even a terrified-hate relationship, but more of a respect-ignore kind of relationship. I keep the babies (feline and human) under a solid, warm roof, and mama kitty keeps her claws to herself.

That little compromise between us changed the hostile wildcat into an aloof visitor and a worried wimp in to a not-so-reluctant hostess.

For a while, the both of us were happy in our own ways.

* * *

 **AN. *the screen displays a new pop-up named 'Author's Notes' before another recording plays.***

 **Yeah, I'm probably still knocked out. But I resolved to get a chapter out this week in any of my stories, and by the gods, I shall do it. Still, be gentle. I will make up for missing so much time, you all have my word.**

 **And as always: comments, concerns, and** **informed** **critiques are always welcomed. And _v_** _ **izgirl,**_ **I'm glad you like this, and don't you worry: every story I start, I'm going to finish to the best of my ability.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**

 ***The second recorded message ends and the laptop goes into sleep-mode, leaving the room dim with an unconscious Jahaira on the floor***


	7. Race

**Hey, Guys and Gals.**

 **I know, I know. I've been out of my writing groove and silent for far too long. I can only hope that you all have found some enjoyment with the world around you during that time.**

 **But enough with that, you all want a story and a story is what I'll give you all. Sorry that it's shorter than usual, but I'm kind of rusty. Still, without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. .gnihton nwo I**

 **Warning: Cursing and blood.**

* * *

Race

If only the peace could have stayed around for a bit longer… but the blood-stained porch screamed otherwise.

It was another morning, and it was a pretty chilly one. Fall was settling in and the frost wasn't too far off. Thankfully, it was a Saturday. The boys (including Kristoff) have always slept in on the weekends, so they didn't get the chance to see the fresh blood trail on the porch as I carried the bed out with the lazily resting cats.

"Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

If it didn't register before, then I will tell you now that I was freaking out. People are not supposed to wake up to the sight of blood on their doorstep. And this was the _second_ time!

I didn't even realize I was cursing as I placed the cat-laden pillow to look around. The blood was mostly on the stairs of the porch, and among them were animal prints. Cat prints. I followed them as I moved towards the stroller ramp and see them disappear underneath the porch.

Without a second thought, I was on my stomach. I barely paid attention to the cold ground or the dirt on my clothes and looking under the porch to see two points of blue.

"Oh god," I breathed out.

It was the white-furred mother cat. She was right on time for her morning visit and she looked like she had been thrown into a shredder and splattered with dirty red paint. However, the smell was wrong, and the blue eyes that looked at me from the dirt yowled silently in pain.

Before I knew it, I was slowly crawling towards the beaten feline, while softly cursing the entire time. On my elbows and knees, I felt I was in some weird automatic-mode as I looked over her injuries as quickly as possible. It didn't take long to realize that this was worse than Marshmallow's previous injuries. Much worse.

A lot of fur was ripped off to reveal deep puncture wounds on her right hind leg, heavy scratching to her neck and ears, and endless patterns to deep scratches and bruises all along her body. Her left foreleg was bent into a different way than her right one, and a quick look at her pale gums showed that she was suffering from blood loss and a few recently missing teeth.

As the list of growing injuries was finished, one thing about the whole experience made my blood chill: the feline didn't move. Not a hiss, a swipe, or even a glare was given to me. She just laid on her side and let me touch her. Hell, I was near her mouth and she didn't even try to bite or nip at me. She laid on the blood-speckled ground with the same look of silent agony. That alone sent me running through the house like a madwoman.

That cat needed help. Fast.

In three minutes flat, I was decently dressed and ready to head back onto the porch with a few towels in my hands. My phone, wallet, and my car keys were already in my pockets. The entire time had my head in two places: the past and the present.

The present me was rushing to get out of the house, while the past me was back a month and a half, thinking of what I had done after my patch up job with Marshmallow.

I knew Marshmallow was bothered by his injures after I had patched him up. And no matter how tough he was, I wasn't going to let him suffer from them. I had quickly researched and found out that a nearby town had an emergency pet clinic. Visiting there with Marshmallow gave me some much needed help and a bit of teaching. Apparently, an emergency clinic for animals is the same for humans in that you don't really need an appointment. Hell, they evened changed out Marshmallow's bandages and gave me a few tips on keeping the wounds clean along with some pain medications.

Now, I knew that was out of my league. If the mother cat was going to have a chance, it was at that clinic. The bad thing was that it was an hour away.

I rushed out the door with that thought in my mind, barely paying attention to the now empty porch and abandoned pillow. I jumped off the porch and rushed to where I had last seen the mother cat. I nearly dove underneath the porch this time, and froze at what I saw.

I didn't expect to stumble upon another heart-breaking sight so early in the morning, but there it was. However, it was for a different reason.

The feral mother was surrounded by the other cats under the porch. Marshmallow was sitting next to his battered waifu's head, licking her face clean of blood. The kittens copied their dad by licking wherever they could reach, which limited them to their mother's legs and belly. The sad thing was that she still wasn't moving.

She looked dead, and I knew she would be if she didn't get to that clinic.

And sadly, the others were in my way. So I quietly clicking my tongue to get their attention and gently pushing to make some room while I worked.

My body was still in automatic-mode, and that meant that I was still talking. Or rather, cursing. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the stupid ramblings from my mouth. I was quiet, but I rambled as I lifted the cat from the ground and wrapped her up in the towels. A strangled meow was all she did as I wrapped her limp body.

"Shh. It's alright."

I repeated that over and over as I lifted her to the car. I placed her in the front seat as carefully as I could before looking back around. I had to make sure that I wasn't forgetting something. Being as frantic as I was, I didn't want to make a mistake. Especially, if it concerns the safety of the other cats.

Fluffs of black, gray, and orange were circling around my legs. Jack, Po, and Queen had followed me to the car, mewing all the way, but I was too out-of-it to really hear them. In a flash, I picked the three kittens up and rushed towards the house. I basically dumped them inside before locking the front door. I would feel sorry afterwards, but my head didn't have room for it now.

Running to the car, I barely glanced at Marshmallow laying next to his critically injured partner before shutting the door. I forgot about him, but I wasn't worried. He could behave himself. He did the last time. Throwing myself into the drivers' side of the car, I started it up and raced away like a maniac.

Seriously, if I was caught by the police now, I would certainly get pulled over.

I was blowing past stop signs and taking the turns so quickly that I instinctively put a hand on the bundle of stained towels to keep her steady. As I did, I could feel her breathing push against my hand. It was the one thing that was keeping me from running red lights as well.

And all through the ride, I kept half-mumbling/half-rambling to the cat.

"Stay with me, baby girl. An hour. Give me an hour, and you'll be okay."

Another choked meow sounded, and she kept breathing.

* * *

 **A.N. Before anyone asks: No, I'm not naturally an ass to cats.**

 **But yeah, this is a shorter chapter than usual. I'm rusty and I know it, so I'll ease myself back into my typing groove with all of my stories.**

 **And as always: comments, concerns, and informed critiques are always welcomed. Thanks so much for the compliments, MicSham. I glad you like my story so far and hope I'll continue making it interesting to read.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**


	8. Lead

**Hey, Guys and Gals.**

 **I hope you all have been finding ways to humoring yourselves while I type up chapters. It's slow going, but it's getting there. For now, I have this chapter ready to be read.**

 **Still, without further ado, Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. .gnihton nwo I**

 **Warning: Slight cursing.**

* * *

Lead

Even years afterwards, I still find wonder how I didn't get pulled over for speeding.

I had taken an hour drive, and shortened it to thirty-five minutes. Either I was lucky or someone up high was watching out for me. I still believe in the former than the latter, but it left me sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room with a breathing lap-warmer as I waited for the results of the surgery.

Yeah, that's right: surgery. After a few quick scans, the white cat was rushed to the operating table.

One of the doctors had showed me the x-rays performed on the white cat. It turned out that her misshapen left foreleg was actually broken in two places along with two of her ribs. For her legs, they were planning to drill into the bone and use metal plates to keep the bone aligned to heal better. Put a cast on it and the leg should heal swimmingly. I don't really know what they did with her ribs or with her other injuries.

I'll admit that I didn't pay attention as much as I should have: My bad. I would have paid attention more, but I stopped listening after I heard the word 'bullet.'

Yep: bullet.

Do you remember when I said about those puncture wounds on the feline's back legs? Well, I was wrong. It wasn't puncture wound from some dog's bite. It was a fucking bullet wound. As in someone had the balls to shot at a cat. My cat. My family cat.

That was what made me feel so cold. Sitting there, in a too clean and too bright room, I was trying. Trying my hardest to keep my hands from shaking. Trying my hardest to keep myself from crying. Trying my hardest to stop reliving the moment when the doctor showed me those bright white dots in the feline's x-ray and explained what they were.

It was a fucking lead bullet. Buck-shot from a shotgun.

Give me wild dogs and I'll fight them. Give me a fire and I'll put it out. Point a gun at me and I'll break down in tears. And before you ask, no: I didn't have a horrific experience with guns, like some rip off of Bruce Wayne. I have seen a real gun, and even handled at least a paintball gun. But handling a real gun is something I don't want to do. Ever.

Guns were weapons.

Weapons kill.

I will have no part of it.

End. Of. Discussion. For. Me.

The only reason I was somewhat calm now was because of Marshmallow. The internet says some stupid stuff sometimes, but animals really do calm people down. At least, petting Marshmallow was helping me think clearly as I waited. I tried to remember as many pieces of information about my neighbors and about the home I lived in for the past few months.

My closest (and only) neighbors were the ones who owned the farmland next door, but I should explain some more. It was more of an orchard than a real farm. It was a family owned place with the matriarch ruling over that everyone called Grandmother Willow. I've personally met her a few good times just by taking my walks close to her property. All of my meetings with her just gave me one conclusion: She was a pretty stern old woman whenever she wanted to be, but could be as accommodating as she was strong.

I learned that as soon as I learned that she too carried a few firearms. They were handguns and a rifle, so it could not have shot the buck-shot the doctors were trying to get out of the feline. Also, she was responsible about the power she held in her hands, so she wouldn't be reckless enough to shoot a domesticated cat, irresponsible enough to not teach her family the dangers, or uncaring enough to leave the rifle in the reach of everyone in her household.

Even I had to admit that her gun vault was rather impressive.

The woods behind my home were pretty extensive. It was as if my home was at the edge of a cul-de-sac, and the woods encircled us. It's pretty much all uninterrupted woodland all the way up to the mountains that create the little valley that my family lives in. The exceptions are a few roadways, but even those don't post much of a disturbance. They're the kind that moves with the earth, instead of cutting through, but it's still there. Would a real hunter use that type of terrane for hunting?

And the most important question of all: what type of person does not see a pure white cat? Colorblind or not, white sticks out from the dead-brown colors of late Fall.

It was clear that this was in no way any sort of accident. Someone took aim and tried to kill a part of my family. The realization made the cold feeling sink even deeper inside me.

The buzzing of my phone snapped me out of my funk as I look to see who was calling me. Barely looking at the screen, I dimly realize that it was a Snapchat call before I picked it up but stayed silent. I really wasn't in the mood for chit-chat.

"Hey, Princess." The voice was deep, soft, and very familiar to my ears. Tilting the phone, I look to see that my caller was Kristoff. The moment I heard his voice and saw his face, my body relaxed. So much so that I only realized how terribly tense I was until then. And how tired I was.

"Hey, Kris."

"The boys are looking for you. You're okay?"

"Not really." Kristoff could hear the strain in my voice as easily as I could, so I didn't even bother to try and make up some story.

"Marshmallow's gone."

"No, he's okay. I'm at the animal clinic with him," I say. I move my phone down to expose the fluff of black-and-white on my lap. Meanwhile, Marshmallow had his head tilted to the side, probably wondering why Kristoff was suddenly 2-D and small upon my screen. I was going to explain a bit more until I hear a bit of a gurgling coo coming from the speakers of my phone.

"Hey, little man. You wanna talk with Mami? …Okay, okay. Here, you go."

Throughout the exchange, I smiled. Kristoff truly was the only man I could ever love. Best friend, loving husband, and beautiful father all rolled into one great guy, and it was moments like these that made me see how lucky I was. Especially when I see a bleary-eyed Elijah come to the screen.

In as soft a voice as I could manage, I cooed and kissed Elijah through the phone. I laughed at how Elijah adopted the same look as Marshmallow: head tilted and eyes wide. Probably for the same reasons, too.

The lightheartedness of the call almost made me cry. For the past few hours, I was locked in my own head with bullets and blood on my mind. Even if I didn't notice it before, I clearly had to think about something else. Anything else. For now, I focused on my Elijah's little squeaks and breaths as he tried to reach me through the touchscreen.

It was a while before Kristoff showed up in the screen again, but I could still see Elijah as he laid back in his stroller with a bottle of baby formula being held by Kristoff.

"So, is Marshmallow okay? Did some of his scars open up?"

"No," I say. "I found the mama cat outside. She's badly hurt, Kristoff. The doctors are performing surgery."

"Surgery? That fast?"

Yeah, I was confused too when I first heard it. The surgery being started so quickly after I brought the injured feline in was a bit out of the blue, since it usually needs a lot of prep work. But usually, pets aren't used for target practice.

Then again, I knew what he was confused about. The last time it was Marshmallow that was injured, and we healed him at home with bandages and peroxide. If he saw the blood on the porch and thought the same, it would be a no-brainer. But what he didn't know that most of the blood was seeping into the ground underneath the stairs.

"Kristoff, she… she's been shot and a few bullets are still in her. I guess they need to remove them as quick as possible to help her heal." Although I try my best to get the worst of the news out of the way, I could still see shock spread across Kristoff's face.

I wondered if I looked like that as the doctor explained the white dots in the x-ray earlier. I shake the errant thought away as I continue talking.

"Kris, please do me a favor and keep the boys and the kittens inside for today? I don't know who could have done this, and I don't want them in danger." Once again, thank god for Saturday and its morning cartoons. They probably haven't even left their rooms.

"Already on it. Anything else you need?" My mind shifts around and picks up back onto my next-door neighbors.

"Can you call Grandmother Willow? If someone is really shooting up animals, they need to keep their own safe." Honestly, I believed that her family pets would be in more danger than my own with them being loose on the property. The orchard had plenty of space for their pets to run around in, including her granddaughter's pet raccoon. Don't ask me how or why she allowed her granddaughter to tame a raccoon: she just does. But I know that a kid who lost their pet would be a heartbroken sight.

The memory of Marshal wrapping a certain bleeding, monochrome cat in his sweater is still fresh to this day.

"Alright, I'll call them after this." He waits for a moment before speaking again. "You'll be okay." He says this in a really soft voice. The kind that he saves only when I need it most and when he's worried about me. Still, I have to at least try to appear positive and not worry him.

"I'll be okay when I find the bastard who did this." I'm joking, of course, but it helps a bit.

"Easy there, feisty pants."

Before I could say anything else, my name gets called out. I look up to see the doctor who was performing the surgery standing a few steps from me. The surgery must be over. Kristoff heard it too, and must have understood.

"Be safe?"

"Never. See ya, Kristoffer." As a response, he sticks his tongue out at me.

As the call ends, I think about how much it has helped me. Looking at my family and away from the chaos that's slammed into me since I woke up has really settled my nerves. Looking down, I appreciate the other calming thing that has been purring in my lap. Picking Marshmallow up and bring him close to my face, I say a very quiet _thanks_. Despite being in an unfamiliar environment for hours on end, he's just sat in the same position as I petted him and kept myself from freaking out.

The scars that I could feel as I gently scratched and combed his coat with my fingers made me realize how close this family of cats have gotten to my own.

The fearsome Marshmallow (the same one who was purring contently in my arms) really liked being an indoor cat with Marshall pampering him with love and treats. Jack, Po, and Queen were ripping up the house with their limitless energy. Following the trio of fluffy tails was Olaf who loved all three of his 'littler brothers.' Elijah had a new babysitter as a certain adorable Instagram post of him using Marshmallow as a plushy stated to the world. The white mother cat stayed at the edges of the chaotic home, but was still being the best mother she could be. And in the middle of all of the cute chaos was me and Kristoff being the best parents we could be.

And as I'm lead out of the waiting room, I know that I'm going to do my best to protect my family.

* * *

 **AN. Why Does Editing Have To Take So Long? And Why Am I Such A Perfectionist About It? I Even Went Back To Edit My Other Chapters Too!**

 **AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**

 ***Sigh* Oh, well. Nothings perfect. But I did go back and cleaned up my other chapters of this story. It's nothing really noticeable as it's mostly spelling and grammar kind of stuff, but at least I'm finding my updating groove again. If only slightly.**

 **And as always: comments, concerns, and** **informed** **critiques are always welcomed. Your patience has been rewarded, vinzgirl. I hope you like this chapter, too.**

 **So, until next time, Au revoir.**


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